


Beautiful

by SennyriNamis23



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Art Trade, M/M, With brief appearances by sera and iron bull, soft and gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 13:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30089523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SennyriNamis23/pseuds/SennyriNamis23
Summary: It’s easy for Dorian to find the worst in every new place he’s dragged to. But it’s just as easy for Arn to find something to love about them. So when Dorian starts grumbling about everything, Arn is there to remind him of the good.Except one time when their roles get reversed.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hoiist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoiist/gifts).



**Emprise du Lion**

A snowball pelted Dorian square between the shoulders, knocking him slightly off balance as he tried to gain his footing on the icy path.

“ _Oomph_! Can you two children keep your shenanigans to yourselves for once in your Maker-forsaken lives?” he swore at them.

Sera let loose a wild laugh, almost feral, and then threw another snowball in his direction. This time Dorian had enough warning that he sent a spark of magic from his fingers, exploding the snow with a little fireball that fell harmlessly to the ground in front of him.

“Vint, you are _no fun_ ,” she complained before catching a mouthful of snow from one of Iron Bull’s massive snow projectiles. They didn’t even count as snowballs, they were so big; and half the time he didn’t bother to shape them like spheres!

Sera just cackled some more and Bull joined her heartily, the sound of them echoing loudly through the canyon below.

Dorian scowled, “If I die here, falling on my ass and sliding off a cliff’s edge into the abyss, I will come back and haunt you both for eternity.”

“Ey, lighten up, you old fop, we won’t let you die,” Iron Bull replied from slightly behind him. Dorian would have turned to shoot a glare at him if he wasn’t petrified that spinning on his heel would land him right on his face in the snow. He was freezing enough as it was, thank you very much.

Using his staff as a balance, he took a dozen more cautious steps down and off the rocky path onto more solid and somewhat less perilous ground.

Sera and Bull let out more raucous laughter behind him. But that hardly caught Dorian’s attention as he took a deep breath and looked up.

The Inquisitor stood before him, totally lost in thought as he looked up into the snow-covered trees that surrounded them. His eyes were wide, taking in everything around him. A little pile of snow sifted through his fingers as he moved them, the feeling of it making him smile that little grin that always melted Dorian’s stone-cold heart. Arn seemed not to notice the freezing breeze that pushed against them, entranced by the way it moved the branches and blew the snow back into the air.

Just when Dorian thought Arn didn’t even notice him, he spoke quietly, “Isn’t it beautiful, Dorian?”

He hadn’t even turned around, just held his hand out to catch some of the drifting snow and said it like he’d never been happier in his life.

“It’s a little slippery and cold for my tastes,” Dorian replied, taking another small, slow step closer. He looked up into the sun, wishing for summer’s warmth. But he looked over to Arn and saw him beaming in the cold - he knelt in the snow and ran his hands through the top fluffy layer, squeezing it through his fingers.

He was so lovely, so handsome, so happy, it made Dorian’s heart flip in his chest.

Without thinking, he took another step closer and leaned down to touch him, and he knew immediately that he was done for. The world tilted sideways before he could even say anything, and in about a second, all Dorian’s hard and careful work had been undone. He landed ass first in a snow drift, snow landing on his hair and his clothes and his staff.

“ _Kaffas_!” he muttered.

Arn turned to him quickly, snow immediately forgotten as he traipsed easily over to him.

“You okay?” he asked, just as gentle as always.

Dorian grumbled, “I’m fine. My disposition simply wasn’t made for this wasteland.”

Arn chuckled quietly, then knelt and slid his arms beneath Dorian, lifting him up like he weighed no more than a handful of grapes.

“Whoa, hey!” Dorian protested, wrapping one arm around his great shoulders and holding on tightly, “I could have gotten myself up!”

Arn smiled, and in that moment the sunlight draped around his head like a halo, illuminating the icicles on the tree branches around them and casting colorful shadows around them. Dorian’s heart threatened to seize in his chest at the sight of him. Maker, that smile, that brightness in his eyes, his dark and freckled skin. All of Thedas could be covered in snow and he wouldn’t care so long as Arn was with him.

The warmth of the man seeping into him wasn’t a bad thing, either. The great and magnificent heater that he was.

And suddenly the joy was gone, replaced by fear and worry, as Arn asked, “Are you okay? Are you injured? You went blank there for a moment.”

Dorian shook his head, “I’m fine. Just… enjoying the natural beauty.”

Arn tilted his head, “But you were staring right at me?”

He raised an eyebrow as he replied, “That I was.”

Arn blushed and bowed his head shyly, and Dorian’s affection for him grew even more, “Oh.”

There was a brief moment of quiet between them before Dorian blew an exaggerated exhale out of his nose.

“Alright, if you’re going to insist on holding me like this, at least kiss me first.”

Arn laughed, sending yet more tingles of warmth through Dorian’s skin, and then obliged, leaning down and pressing their foreheads together for a brief moment before their lips met.

So maybe Emprise du Lion wasn’t so bad.

\---

**Hissing Wastes**

Dorian awoke with a start, stirred from a nightmare quickly forgotten, leaving him vaguely unnerved. He looked over beside him, expecting to find Arn there, that great huge man he could cuddle with as the last of his knots untwined.

But the space next to him in the tent was empty.

“Amatus?” he called quietly, willing his heartbeat to slow as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

There was no reply. Arn wasn’t in the tent with him.

Had he been called out? Was there some sort of Inquisitorial emergency? Was Sera just playing an elaborate prank on him?

The Hissing Wastes were more or less impassable during the day - the sun beating down so hot that just stepping in the sand would more or less melt your shoes. That’s what it felt like, anyway. And it wasn’t even an enjoyable heat, so dry and blistering it was. So they’d taken to traveling and adventuring in the evening, when instead the desert was cold, but at least able to be traveled. Tonight had been an odd occasion; Arn had declared that they would stay at the Inquisition camp for a full night and day without any traveling. They were all exhausted from the abrupt switch in sleep schedules, so it had been a night and day mostly filled with naps in the shade.

Until now, apparently.

Dorian flung on his armor, knowing the air would be crisp without the sun’s warmth. Not as cold as Emprise du Lion, and the sand still retained a fair amount of heat, but cool enough to send a shiver through his spine once he stepped out of the tent.

Inquisition soldiers gathered around the small campfire, roasting small strips of meat on sticks and chatting away quietly. Dorian glanced their way but didn’t make eye contact with any of them, looking only long enough to ensure that Arn wasn’t with them.

Their camp was nestled in a small valley between sand dunes, which provided serviceable cover, but also made it impossible to see the surrounding area. Even from below, he could see a pair of Inquisition soldiers on the top of the dunes, taking long slow routes back and forth.

He looked around the camp one last time, from the campfire to the small hoard of supplies to the half dozen tents. Arn didn’t seem to be sneaking between them. So with a little huff and a growing flutter of butterflies in his stomach, he grabbed his staff and began the ascent up the dune closest to their shared tent.

He pushed down worries and fears as he walked, focusing his thoughts on his steps rather than the lack of a certain Inquisitor. Using his staff as a balance aid when his feet slid in the loose sand, the trek took far longer than he wanted it to. By the time he reached the top, he was out of breath and his legs were uncomfortable from the effort it took.

But he was rewarded by the moonlight washing over him and the landscape. A gentle breeze brushed across his shoulders, shifting the sand around him ever so slightly. Thedas’ moons hung low in the sky, one right beside the other. The sky was littered with thousands of stars, many of which Dorian was sure he’d never seen before. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d never seen that many stars before in his life.

From that viewpoint he could see for miles in nearly every direction, the landscape unobstructed by mountains or villages or substantial hills.

A pair of varghests hissed and growled a good distance away. Nocturnal birds chirped and cooed into the cool air. A fennec yelped.

For an inhabitable wasteland, there sure was a lot of life in this place.

And if he looked off into the distance, at the top of the nearest dune, was a horned figure sitting in the sand, a faint green light glowing beside him.

Dorian breathed a sigh of relief and then half-jogged over to him, thanking the Maker that he didn’t need to make the same climb to this next dune.

“Arn!” he called when he was twenty paces out, “What in the Maker’s name are you doing out here?”

He turned around, that adorable grin wide across his face, “Couldn’t sleep.”

Dorian refused to sit in the sand beside him - it was bad enough that his boots would be covered and filled with the stuff.

He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, “So, what? That warrants frightening me, abandoning the camp without so much as a word, leaving me in the middle of a good nap?”

Arn turned his head back to the moons, the smile still on his lips, and he asked softly, “Isn’t it beautiful, Dorian?”

“That’s not the point-” he began to refute, but Arn pushed himself up, slowly clambering to his full and magnificent height.

“Isn’t it, though?” he asked, holding Dorian’s cheek in his hand, lifting his chin up so they could look each other in the eyes, “Isn’t the point of it all to save what is beautiful and good? What good is saving this world if we can’t savor it in the process?”

Dorian frowned, “That is… remarkably philosophical of you.”

Arn laughed, his easygoing joy so infectious that Dorian had to focus to keep from smiling with him, “I suppose. I don’t know, sometimes it just seems like we do a lot of killing, a lot of protecting horrible Orlesians, a lot of stuff I wouldn’t do in any other circumstance. I have to remind myself that there’s a reason we’re doing it at all.”

He was remarkably handsome in the moonlight, the silvery light of the moons combined with the green light of the Anchor creating a beautiful symphony of colors around him. His eyes were dark and lovely, his skin almost shimmering, his jaw strong and sharp.

“You horrible do-gooder,” Dorian replied, finally releasing a little smirk before he grabbed Arn’s chest armor and pulled him down to kiss him passionately, never more sure that he loved him with all his heart.

Arn just smiled through their kisses.

\---

**Qarinus, the Northern Shore**

It had been fifteen years since the Exalted Council and its associated shenanigans. Fifteen years of seeing each other for only brief reprieves two or three times a year. Fifteen years of tireless and thankless political work in Minrathous. Fifteen years of talking mostly through crystals, through long nights, through emotional highs and lows.

But Arn had finally decided he’d had enough of the mercenary life. Neither of them loved the idea of a Qunari living in Tevinter full time, but they’d figure it out. They always did.

For now, it was safer to lodge at the Pavus Estate in Qarinus rather than Dorian’s usual residence in Minrathous. Qarinus was far from the hubbub of the Magisterium, far from the most prying eyes, far from the Lucerni and their enemies. Besides, the Pavus Estate sat on a beautiful plot of land up against the sea. There was always a gentle breeze, and the estate was open and airy - the perfect place to recover from your trials and tribulations in the world.

Well, that was the thought, anyway.

Dorian stood in the doorway looking out over the northern part of the estate; Arn sat on the dock, swinging his feet in the water listlessly, staring at nothing in particular.

He wasn’t the same easygoing person he’d been fifteen years ago. Years of grating comments, of Orlesian snobbery, of getting the short end of the stick, of being told to be grateful he got a stick at all. It had taken a toll on him. Arn was a little grizzled now, sporting a grayed beard and mustache, both streaked through with new and old scars. He was somber, reserved, sardonic, and harsh, not the bubbly, gentle, and joyful Inquisitor of old. He was still kind, of course, particularly to the servants and freed slaves who congregated around the Estate. He still enjoyed talking with the cooks and the maids about their families and their hobbies. He was still gentle with them, always. But he bristled at the thought of aristocratic company (Dorian hadn’t dared to attempt to bring another magister besides Maevaris in the house), and there were days when he couldn’t even leave their bedroom. So today was a good day in that regard.

Dorian had hoped the fresh sea air would do Arn good, but sometimes he wasn’t sure it was the right decision.

Like now, as a stunning sunset reflected off the gentle waves of the sea and beautiful reds and purples and pinks glittered across the water like little bits of glass. The water was calm, the sky was clear except for a few puffy clouds colored bright pink by the sunset. But Arn didn’t seem to see it. He absently rubbed his hand at the end of his left arm stub, having left his prosthetics back inside.

Dorian’s heart broke a little to see him like this. He wanted more than anything to see Arn happy again. As far as he was concerned, the magisters and Tevinter elite could stand to be knocked down a peg or two by the Tal-Vashoth Inquisitor’s sharp tongue, but the melancholic look on Arn’s face afterwards spoiled whatever pleasure Dorian got from the encounter.

He pushed off the wall and took a few soft, slow steps towards his amatus. The grass was soft between his bare feet, slightly dewy and ticklish. Dorian put his arms behind his back as he walked, taking careful steps between the little buds of the flowers that would pop up between the blades of grass.

The evening air was still warm, and a comfortable breeze flitted through his robes. Dorian smiled; at least they weren’t stuck in the freezing cold wasteland that was Fereldan.

He looked up again as he reached the dock; Arn still sat at the edge, swinging his feet back and forth at the top of the water, his hand loose in his lap. His eyes were cast downward, slowly tracking the movement of his feet but without any purpose. The sunset still beamed around them, draping the sea and the land in a lovely warm golden color. The Arlathan Forests to the east were visible, dark and green and mysterious and majestic. On the other side, the Eyes of Nocen protruded from the sea in tall, straight, imposing lines, reaching for the heavens. To the north, just the sea was to be seen, but somewhere beyond the horizon was Seheron, that war stricken island that could never escape the game of tug of war between Minrathrous and Par Vollen.

He made a little more noise as he stepped up onto the dock and behind Arn, not wishing to startle him. But if he heard Dorian, he made no motion to him.

So Dorian lowered himself with a little grunt beside him, waiting for a long moment before he did anything else. The water was cool on his ankles, but certainly not cold. If he looked hard enough, he thought he could see little fish fluttering around in the more shallow waters.

Arn leaned against him with a little sigh, but there was still no sign of a smile on his lips.

Dorian took Arn’s hand and wove their fingers together, squeezing his giant, calloused hand with as much love and adoration as one could with just a hand squeeze. He reached over and pressed a little kiss to Arn’s cheek, which earned him a small noise somewhere between a hum and a grunt.

He looked out over the sea again, out to the Eyes of Nocen and the magnificent sunset around them.

“Isn’t it beautiful, amatus?” he asked quietly.

Arn immediately picked his head up, his eyes alert and curious. But he wasn’t looking at the sunset or the water or the little fish nibbling at his feet. His eyes met Dorian’s, and then he smiled.

“It is,” he replied.

He squeezed Dorian’s hand and leaned over to kiss him, first on the head, but then on the lips, his stubbly beard rubbing against Dorian’s chin and cheeks. He chuckled a little at the feeling of it, but not once gave Arn a reason to pull back. So they just kept kissing until well after the sun went down, just enjoying the company of each other in the warm Tevinter evening.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my half of a trade with Hoiist! I hope you all like it too! Arn is Hoiist’s Inquisitor.


End file.
